


her darling pet

by fluffysfics



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Collars, Dom/sub, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, Mostly Pwp, Oral Sex, Pet Play, Post-Episode: s12e10 The Timeless Children, soft dom Doctor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-16 05:00:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28576386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fluffysfics/pseuds/fluffysfics
Summary: The Master is a very good pet.
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/The Master (Dhawan)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 48





	her darling pet

**Author's Note:**

> happy one year anniversary to spyfall part two, the episode that catapulted me into the single most productive writing year of my life. have some porn!

The collar is a deep, rich shade of blue, like the sky just minutes before the sun is fully set. It’s made of a soft, supple leather; cold at first, but it had warmed so quickly to his skin that it now felt utterly natural to wear. 

Kneeling in front of the library fireplace, head tipped back to gaze at the Doctor in an armchair above him, the Master understands exactly why most people fall so easily into submission. With just the right push, letting someone else take control is so, _so_ appealing. 

And the Doctor knows exactly what the right push is. A gentle compliment every few minutes, half an hour spent stroking his hair as he lies in her lap, and the Master is _gone_. He would do anything for her. And all she’d asked of him was that he strip and kneel for her, which is nothing, really. 

In a far-off place at the back of his mind, he’s aware of his vulnerability, and of the fact that it’s been fifteen minutes since his collar had gone on, and the Doctor has simply been staring admiringly at him this whole time. But he feels so calm, right now. Peaceful. Worrying about her plan is not for him to do; all he has to do is obey. 

And five minutes later, his patience is rewarded. The Doctor sits forward, runs one of her fingertips over the entire front of his collar. Then, she hooks a finger into the O-ring at the front, and gives it a sharp tug. 

The Master collapses forwards, not thinking to put his arms out to stop him. He ends up leaning heavily on her leg- his chin rests against her knee. For several long seconds, the Doctor does nothing but stare at him. 

“Good,” she says then, her voice soft but utterly in control, and that one word of praise sends tingles through him like nothing else. 

Her hand moves from his collar to his hair, and begins to stroke, slowly and gently. For something so simple, it’s completely mind-melting. The Master lets his eyes drift half-closed, watching the Doctor through the faint slit of vision that he still has. He can see the slow, steady rise and fall of her chest, a rhythm that blends with her stroking to become almost hypnotic. 

He feels so lost right now. Like someone could ask him to stand on his own, or speak, and all he would do was stare at them. The Doctor has coaxed him downwards with such gentleness, he wonders if the way back up is even still in sight. 

The hand in his hair stops. Blinking, the Master manages to look up at her, curious. 

“My Koschei.” The Doctor lets one of her fingertips trail down his cheek, over his lips. She traces every line of his face, taps the end of his nose, even brushes over eyelids that he obligingly closes for her. “Every inch of you. Mine. Isn’t that right?” 

Words are not an option. Instead, the Master just gazes up at her, his expression soft and trusting and pliant. He is in her hands, entirely, and the part of him that might worry about such a thing is busy floating off on some mental cloud somewhere. 

“Good,” the Doctor says again. “I wondered if you were a kitten or a puppy, y’know. ‘Cause you were a cheetah, so you’d think a little cheetah kitten, but- look at you, all big-eyed resting on my knee. Very puppy. Maybe a wolf puppy rather than a dog puppy. But I think...just _pet_ suits you best. You’re my pet.” 

_Her pet_. 

He can be satisfied with that. 

Not so long ago, being in this position would have offended him right down to his core. The Master does not submit to anyone; it’s in his name. He is the one in control. 

But that was before Gallifrey. Before the Cybermen, and the Death Particle, and the way the Doctor had guided his exhausted, shaking self into a TARDIS and left their planet behind. 

She’s been so good to him. So patient, as he works through years and years of hard, knotted anger, of insecurity and inferiority and self-hatred. She’s let him build himself back up, and let him lean on her as much as necessary. She has her own problems, too, but they’re working on those as well. Together. Always together, now. 

He’d brought up the collar thing half as a joke, and then far more seriously when the Doctor had gone quiet and her face had flushed so much that she’d tried to hide it with her hair. And then she’d gone away, and come back from her workshop the next day with the softest, most perfect collar he’d ever seen. 

It had still taken the Master another week to _really_ be okay with wearing it. He’d wanted to, but it had been hard at the time, hard to soothe that part of him that was so keen to be loud, and possessive, and in charge. But he’d tried. And he’d succeeded. 

Which has led to today- her hands in his hair as she calms him all the way down, him smiling and dreamy as she calls him _pet_. 

Just because she’d brought up the cheetah thing, the Master lets out a very soft purr to show his appreciation. 

“My pet,” the Doctor says again. Her voice is soft, awed, and the sound of it sets off a tingling glow of warmth in the pit of his stomach. 

He blinks once, slowly, because he remembers that that’s how cats show love. Even if he’s not quite a cat, it still makes the Doctor smile, so he is happy. 

She bends down a little, and tucks one of her hands underneath his chin to lift his head. With her other index finger, she gently traces a spiral, swirling outwards from the centre of his forehead in a way that feels like she’s trying to mesmerise him. He’s half sure that it’s working- he blinks, a little hazy, as she taps him lightly on the end of the nose. She brushes over his cheekbones, down his jaw, up and back around and then finally over the soft, full bow of his lips. 

His mouth is slightly open, relaxed and almost _dazed_ by the careful affection she is showing him, and the Doctor takes the chance to gently slip two fingers into his mouth. 

Some instinct tells him to suck, so that’s what the Master does. He drags the flat of his tongue over each digit, working around them, enjoying the faint salty taste of her skin. He sucks on them like they’re some far more sensitive part of her body, and he can’t help the glow of pride when he sees her eyes flutter closed for a moment. 

“ _Darling_ pet,” the Doctor breathes, and he decides that he very much likes that term of endearment. “Good boy. Good...” She sighs, and slowly withdraws her fingers, trailing them over his cheek. He feels the damp trail they leave behind, but he’s far too relaxed to bother wiping it away. 

“Look at you, all eager. Aren’t I lucky to own a pet like you?” The Doctor sits back, shrugs off her suspenders, and lifts her hips so that she can wriggle her trousers off and kick them aside. The Master perks up _immediately_ , eyes drawn to the rainbow question mark-covered boxers that are now the only thing on her lower half. “C’mon, pet. What are you after? Gonna have to tell me. Or show me.” 

The boxers are an affront to civilised eyes, but the Master is not feeling very civilised at the moment. He crawls forwards on his hands and knees, buries his face between her legs, and _whines_. It’s the Doctor who has made him feel so completely relaxed. It’s the Doctor who gave him this collar, who keeps heaping such wonderful praise on him. All he wants now is to be able to make her feel good in return. 

He hears her breath hitch, but she doesn’t actually _say_ anything, so- so he should try harder. The Master nuzzles in as close as he can, licking at the fabric, trying unsuccessfully to pull it aside with his teeth. He whines more, suddenly _desperate_ , and- and the Doctor is pulling his head up, one hand curled into his hair. 

Her eyes are wide and dark, her cheeks flushed. She looks surprised, and more turned on than he’s seen her for literally centuries. “ _Brilliant_ ,” she murmurs, and lifts her hips again to finally get rid of the boxers as well. Good riddance, for more than one reason. 

She’s exposed now, and the Master knows exactly what he wants. He stays still though, trembling with the need to be _good_ , the effort of fighting the animal instinct to pounce and take what he wants. 

The Doctor’s tongue darts out, wetting her lips. She’s looking at him like she can’t quite believe this, and he just gazes up at her, adoring, assuring her with every passing second that in this moment, he is _hers_. 

“Go on, pet,” she says quietly. “You know what to do.” 

He absolutely does. 

The Master presses forward, immediately burying his face as close as he can get. For all of half a second, he stills, overwhelmed by the warmth and the relief and the urge to _please_ her- and then he gets to work. 

This is far from the first time he’s done this, by now. He knows just what the Doctor likes. But this collar, this state of mind- it’s new, it’s different. He drags his tongue over her in an almost too-steady rhythm for close to a minute, until he can feel her thighs tightening around his head in an attempt to extort more. It works, because at the moment, the Master feels utterly enslaved to whatever she wants. 

He purrs, which makes her _jolt_ , and then promptly dips his tongue inside her and laps like a cat that’s just got the cream. It makes her squirm and thrust against his face, and he could not care less about how impossible that makes it to breathe. Respiratory bypass probably wasn’t invented for this, but he’s always been a disgrace to the name of Time Lord. 

He doesn’t even end up needing to use it, because the Doctor grabs his hair and pulls him upwards a little, right at the same time a positively _lewd_ moan escapes her. The Master spares a moment to gaze at her like she’s just handed him the universe, until she tugs on his hair again, and he remembers his task. 

He swallows, feeling the collar press _delightfully_ against his throat, and goes back to licking even as the Doctor’s noises grow steadily louder and louder. She’s normally quite quiet, but he’s pulling all parts of gorgeous gasps and moans from her lips now, and he could swear that he’s never been happier. 

It’s only another minute or so before she’s tugging on his hair again, pulling him a little further up. The Master gets the message, seeks out the right spot with his tongue, and starts to suck on her clit like he’d been doing with her fingers earlier. 

The Doctor claps her free hand over her mouth, and then takes it away again, a long, shuddering breath escaping her. He can feel her tensing up around him, pressing against his face, and he determinedly keeps working, keeps going, even as she cries out and he feels her shake with the intensity of her climax. Good. _Good_ , that’s what he wanted to see. He’s pleased her, he’s done his job. 

Pulling back slightly, the Master keeps licking- just slowly- until the Doctor starts to twitch and eventually pulls his head up to face her. “Enough,” she gasps. “That’s- that’s enough. _Oh_. Good pet.” 

That’s all the praise he needs. Wriggling happily, the Master rests his head against her thigh, and waits patiently. Watching the Doctor recover is a privilege, he decides, because she is _incredible_. Flushed right down to her collarbone, and breathing hard, and gazing at him with so much appreciation that he feels like his hearts might burst from pride. _He’s been good_. 

After a minute, the Doctor slowly sits up. She smoothed down his hair, scratches fondly behind his ear. “Hey,” she breathes. “Ooh. Still a bit wobbly. _You_...are a _very_ good pet.” She pats his head- clearly still just a little bit out of it. That’s fine. She’s praising him, and touching him, and the Master still feels so incredibly content. 

She takes another thirty seconds just to breathe, and then she speaks again. “Good pets deserve rewards, don’t they? I reckon you’ve more than earned one. Go lie on your back by the fire?”

Thrilled by the concept of a reward, the Master happily crawls over there, sprawling down on the soft carpet by the crackling fireplace. Getting to bask here in the warmth would be reward enough on its own, he thinks. Then again, if she’s _offering_ him more...

He hasn’t spared much of a thought to his own body during this. His feelings, yes, but they’re all...warm, and syrupy, and slow. The Doctor has spent plenty of time touching his face and hair, and not much else. And this has been affecting him a _lot_. The evidence of _that_ is hot and hard and pressed against his stomach. 

Well. If she wants to deal with that, it’s up to her. The Doctor has a plan, and he trusts her completely. So he closes his eyes, stays sprawled by the fire until he hears footsteps- a slow approach, coming to a stop at at his side. When the Master opens his eyes, the Doctor is kneeling by his torso, warmth all over her expression. 

“Hi, pet.” Reaching out, she tugs gently on his collar, even as her other hand slides up his stomach, over his chest. “Mine. You’re my _darling_ pet, aren’t you, Koschei?” 

The Master makes a soft noise, his eyes wide and fixed on her face. _Yes_ , he’s hers. He’s all hers right now. 

One of the Doctor’s hands stays on his collar, keeping a slight tension on it- he can never forget that it’s there, that he belongs to her. The other hand slides slowly over his body, stroking, rubbing, massaging- it’s _blissful_. The Master lets himself sink into the feeling, lets himself be taken care of. For once, it’s not hard to believe that the Doctor truly loves him as much as he loves her. 

And then she pinches one of his nipples. 

The noise he makes is a _very_ undignified yelp, which only prompts the Doctor to grin at him and do it again. She rolls the sensitive skin between her fingers, leaning down over him as he squirms. 

“You’re _my_ pet,” she says, her voice low. “I get to do what I want with you, don’t I?” 

He nods, in _awe_ of her, and then whines as she switches to the other side of his chest, giving the other nipple the exact same treatment. It hurts- _fuck_ , it sends electric jolts of pleasure right down to the base of his spine. 

“Exactly what I want,” the Doctor continues softly. “I could just keep doing this for hours.” She switches sides again, making the Master _writhe_. “Maybe you’d come eventually. Maybe not. But that’s not for pets to worry about, yeah?” 

He nods again, breathing hard and fast as she gives each of his nipples one last rough pinch. Then she dips her head, kissing the abused flesh so gently that it makes him shiver. 

“Or...I could be nice,” she murmurs. The Doctor’s hand slips down his stomach, smooths gently over each of his thighs. “You’ve been a _really_ good pet, after all.” 

The Master stills, and says nothing, and waits. His eyes are fixed on the Doctor- he’s putting himself in her hands, completely. There’s no fear, no resentment, no worry; he trusts her. 

“Oh, _good_ ,” she says softly, and finally, _finally_ \- her hand slips up to wrap around his dick. 

She strokes him slowly at first, _so_ slowly, and the feeling is like being burned up from within. Pleasure seems to tingle down his legs, all the way up his spine, sinking into every nerve of his body until he has no choice but to _move_. 

So the Master squirms- he rocks into her hand, and he whines. Undeterred, the Doctor keeps up her steady pace. Her other hand tugs on his collar, and her eyes meet his, and they _hold_ him- gazing into those eyes, it’s suddenly completely impossible to move. He’d think it was hypnosis if he didn’t know better. But it’s fine, it’s _nice_. He stays still, feeling like he’s melting into the soft carpet as she twists her hand _just right_. 

“You’re doing so well,” the Doctor says, her voice barely above a whisper. “My pet. My darling pet. Never thought I’d get to see you like this. So glad I can.” She bites her lip, and then dips her head to kiss him. The Master tilts his face up into it, moans against her lips as she finally begins to speed up her hand. 

“That’s it,” she breathes. “ _Mine_. Oh, look at you. All mine. I could do _anything_ with you...” 

The Doctor speeds up her hand even more, until not even the magnetic influence of her gaze is enough to keep him still. The Master can’t help but squirm, but that’s fine- it’s all fine, when she’s looking at him like that. Like he’s the only thing in the universe that matters. 

He isn’t sure how long it takes- isn’t sure of much of _anything_ right now- but eventually he feels the pleasure curling tight in his stomach, so tight it feels impossible, before it practically _explodes_ out of him. The Master cries out, back arching off the floor for several seconds as he comes. 

He slumps back with a groan as it fades, eyes fluttering shut. The Doctor doesn’t seem keen to overstimulate him- a fact he’s quite thankful for at the moment. Everything feels wonderfully boneless. He’s quite like for it to stay that way for a while. 

When he cracks his eyes open again, the Doctor is inspecting the hand she’d been using to get him off. She stops when she catches him gazing at her, and smiles. In the flickering glow of the firelight, she’s the loveliest thing in the universe, he is completely convinced of that. 

“Hi, Koschei,” she murmurs. “That was great. _You_ were great. Such a good pet.” Bending down, she kisses him again, looping a finger through the collar to give it another gentle tug. He hums happily against her lips. 

“D’you want to keep this on for longer? Think we could both do with a bit of a rest, but...” The Doctor shrugs. 

The collar looks almost black in the orangeish light. It’s still so soft, and it fits him so perfectly. With it on...he can barely think, barely speak; he feels owned, controlled. And more relaxed than he has done in years. 

The Master nods softly, and then reaches out. No more intensity, no more games; he wants something far gentler right now. 

Getting the message, she lies down, pulling him into her arms. His head is resting on her chest; he can hear the quiet four-beat of her hearts. He smiles, curling into her, and closes his eyes. 

“My Koschei,” he hears the Doctor murmur, her voice as soft as the hand she begins to thread through his hair. “My darling pet...” 

**Author's Note:**

> took a little break from the fic series I’ve been spending all my time on! the next part of that is coming soon, but the part in Revolution where she called the Daleks pets was just.......too good not to get inspired by. 
> 
> hope you enjoyed! comments and kudos are very very much appreciated <3


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